Hella's Curse
by Entwinedlove
Summary: Complete. / Thorfinn Rowle and his sister Hella had something besides blood in common. This is a short story inspired by five different prompts in my "Great October Drabble Challenge" and a Let's Play of Hellblade: Senua's Sacrifice. No spoilers for the game. No pairings.
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** I used a combination of **bold** , _italic_ , underline, and _italic-underline_ to differentiate between voices. In upcoming chapters I might also use **bold-underline** or _**bold-italic**_.

 **NaNoWriMo Support Group** , Day 13, Prompt: hurt/comfort

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Hella sat huddled in the corner between the potting workbench and the garden house wall. It was dim in here, the cracks around the door frame and covered windows leaked in little light. The empty planters on the workbench created shapes, faces, in the shadows.

"Hella?" Thorfinn's voice called out, mixing with the ones already speaking to her.

"Thorfinn?" she whispered. Quiet, weak. He'll never hear you. **That's right, call for big brother; what can he do but smash things to bits? He's not helpful. You don't need him.**

Hella pursed her lips before trying again, louder, "Thorfinn?"

The door to the garden house opened and the silhouette of her brother appeared, bulky and tall, hulking. "Hella, are you in here?"

 _Of course she's here. Where else would she be? She always hides here._ "I'm here, Thorfinn," Hella said, standing. She was thin and narrow, everything opposite her brother. Opposite in size, shape, gender. Sanity.

"What happened, Hella?" he asked, reaching out to her. She complied easily, rushing to him and burying her face in his chest. He smelled of sweat and broom polish. "Why are you hiding?"

"The other children... they hurt me." _Cry, go on, cry. That's all you know how to do._ Tell him the boys touched you. **That's a lie!** It doesn't matter, no one would believe her anyway. _Tell him the truth! You started it! You told them you were going to curse them, hex them!_ **They didn't believe her.** _It doesn't matter. No one ever believes you._

"What did they do, Hella?" He smoothed her hair behind her ear, petting her in that gentle way he did. She was the only thing he touched with soft hands.

"The called me names and threw rocks at me," she answered, shifting in his hold to show off the purpling dark marks on her arms. She couldn't see them in the shadows.

"Don't listen to them," he murmured. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her. Then he turned her to face him and bracketed her face with his large hands. He tapped on her temples. "Don't listen to _them_."

She nodded. "I don't like when you go away for school." One of the voices giggled in her head. "They taunt me more."

"I know, but you'll be off to Hogwarts next year."

"You won't be there." _He'll never be there_. **He's never there.**

"Yes, I'll have left Hogwarts by the time you go your first year but if anyone hurts you I'll come back and hurt them, understand? I'll protect you, Hella, I'll always protect you." He paused and waited for her acknowledgement. She blinked and nodded. "All right. Now let's get you inside. I've got some Bruise Paste that will help with these," he said, gesturing to the irregular purple shadows on her skin.

He turned and stepped out into the light and she squinted and flinched at the brightness as if in fear. She always did when she looked into the light. As he guided her into the house she listened.

 _He won't always be there._ You'll never be safe. **Next time lie... he'll kill those horrible children.** _He won't._ _He'll kill for her. He will._ **Yes, he will.** He will.


	2. Chapter 2

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 17, Prompt: cemetery

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Thorfinn had been out of the country when it happened. The Dark Lord had seen something special in him and sent him on an errand. It had seemed important at the time. Now, standing in this dreary place, he couldn't even remember what it had been for.

The ground was muddy and sunken at the marker bearing her name. _Hella Rowle, 1956-1974._ He'd spoken with her at Christmas... and something happened when she'd come home for the spring holidays. His father wouldn't say. Just that she had died.

Thorfinn sank to his knees in the mud. "I failed you, Hella," he whispered. _You did, you failed me._ You failed her. **Failed.** _Failure._ You're worthless. "I broke my promise." _We knew you would. She knew you would._ _**Isn't that all you have? Broken promises and guilt. She's dead. It's your fault.**_ It's always your fault.

He covered his ears and shook his head. They were so loud. So loud. They didn't use to be quite so loud. When he was with his fellow Death Eaters, they were almost quiet. They were silent in the presence of the Dark Lord. Reverent.

"Go away!" Thorfinn shouted. It was only then that he heard footsteps behind him. The mud made an odd sucking-slurping sound with every step, every movement.

'I won't.'

There was defiance in her voice and Thorfinn whirled around, "Hella?" he asked staring wide-eyed in the direction the footsteps had been, searching for her, seeking, peering into the gloom.

'I'm right here, Thorfinn. I'm not leaving you.'

He turned again, catching a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye. The shadows from the tree nearby cast faces onto her tombstone. He breathed deeply. Eased. She would be with him.

"We'll kill them, Hella. All the ones who hurt you, who killed you."

'We have to start at home.' _Home. Father..._ He's the one who did it. **It was him, he killed her. It had to be him.** And those muggle boys down in the village, you know. _You remember._ **Remember?** _You heard them talking about her. About harming her,_ _touching her ,_ _you have to kill them too or she'll never rest._ 'We need to go, Thorfinn.'

He nodded, agreeing with her, and stood. He gripped his wand tight in his fist as his shoulders lifted as he breathed deeply again. He needn't look back at the stone. Her name wasn't there. She wasn't there. She was with him and together, they would have vengeance.


	3. Chapter 3

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 27, Prompt: shadows

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His father had been the first.

Not the first man Thorfinn had killed but the first man he killed with his bare hands like a Muggle. He wasn't the last.

After he'd questioned his father, demanded answers that didn't matter because she was dead, and when those answers weren't what he wanted to hear, were lies, he'd wrapped his large hands around his father's neck and squeezed.

His father's neck had felt so small, so insignificant in his hands. He'd relished in the feel it had given him. This, unlike the clean, almost clinical nature of the Killing Curse, this made him feel like a god.

And then he'd gone on to find those Muggle children. First the oldest boys, who he'd seen leer at her. Then the younger ones who threw rocks. Then the girls who had taunted Hella and called her witch like it was a slur, like it was derogatory.

It was only the summons from the Dark Lord that restrained his spree. His fellow Death Eaters had been dispatched to make the massacre of children in the small village look like an accident. Blew up the schoolhouse with all the bodies in it. Thorfinn had wanted to dance in the flames but the Dark Lord said no.

There were whispers that he had no reason to murder those children, they weren't the same as the ones who had taunted Hella, had hurt Hella, these were younger; innocent. Hella had told him who to touch. He wouldn't have hurt an innocent one.

He felt the cold of the Dementor long before he felt its effects. His skin prickled, tightening up and raising the hair on his arms and on the back of his neck, both a meaningless threat and for warmth. He'd tried, actually, the first time a Dementor had come at him, to intimidate the thing with his height, with his bulk. _Useless._

He breathed a sigh of relief and smiled as the first Dementor drifted closer. He wasn't alone. They left when the Dementors left and the silence in his head was deafening. When the Dementors came back so did all of his friends.

 _We're not your friends._ Yes, we are. You're a good friend Thorfinn. _Do you remember, Thorfinn? Do you remember?_ **Hella is dead because of you. It's your fault. You weren't there to protect her.**

Thorfinn could hear his cell neighbours screaming. Sirius Black was the closest. He always screamed. Sometimes, when he was more aware, he would question Thorfinn. "How can you smile when those abominations come 'round? Are you touched?"

Thorfinn just bared his teeth at the man and waited for his friends to return.

'He's not so bad,' Hella said, sitting just out of sight to his right. He could see the halo of her blonde hair and her hands on her knees, her feet. 'He's just sad his friends died.'

 _He's not like you, he's alone._ **Hella's dead.**

'Am not, I'm right here.'

Thorfinn watched the shadows in his cell move. Pictured them to match the voices in his head.

The dark-haired man in the corner, always hunched over like a deformed child, long slender limbs and no meat on his bones. **Hella is dead. You're a murderer. You're her murderer. You killed everyone. You killed your father, your mother, your sister, they're all dead and it's because of you.** His voice was deep, demonic, scratchy.

There was the naked woman by the window, split vertically from cunt to neck, her head crooked at an odd angle and her guts split at her feet, curiously devoid of blood. He could smell the iron in the air when he looked at her. _You remember me, don't you Thorfinn?_

There were others, sometimes he could see them clearly, other times they danced away before he could get a glimpse. Thorfinn liked to watch the shadows. They talked to him. Kept him sane.

Sirius Black screamed again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 29, Prompt: fear

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Hella didn't know where she was. It was dark. Or she was blind. She didn't know. She heard something nearby and felt fear wrap it's spindly fingers around her spine. Her breathing started coming in short pants until she was gasping, she closed her mouth to try and stifle the noise but couldn't seem to get enough air into her lungs.

Help me!

She screamed it inside her mind, wondering where they were. When there was no answer other than the shuffling sound of something large moving closer she tried not to panic. She wasn't alone. No, they had never really left her alone before no matter how many times she'd wanted them too, told them to.

The hair on her neck tickled and she stiffened, unwilling to move. She felt the quick puffs of the breath of the creature sniff at the back of her neck and she braced herself for death.

Nothing happened for a long moment and Hella's quiet mind scared her more than the creature sniffing at her neck. It moved away from her but she didn't relax. Where were they?

She couldn't spend the rest of her life here wondering at the unnerving silence so she crouched slowly and touched the ground with her fingertips. Dirt. In her mind's eye, she could see it, rich brown dirt like the garden planters at home and at Hogwarts. She breathed deeper, less afraid. She could smell the soil under her feet.

She could also smell spellfire, the sulphur and burnt ozone that accompanied hexes and curses. After another long moment, she could just pick up the sound of running water. A babbling stream like the one that ran behind Rowle Rock and separated the estate proper with the mausoleum and graveyard. She took a cautionary step in the direction of the water. The creature that had scared her so much before did not seem to notice her movement.

She took a second step and a third, all the while listening to everything around her.

It took her a very long time before she reached the stream. If it was the stream she was thinking about, it would be easy enough to just walk through it. She dipped her fingers into the stream. The cool water rushed over her fingers and calmed her more. She had explored the grounds of Rowle Rock so often as a child, she could almost see the landscape in her head. The sound of the running water eased her in the absence of voices.

She moved slowly, carefully stepping into the stream. She felt it rushing around her feet, her ankles. Hella took another step and another and another but the water never rose higher than her ankles nor did she find the other bank. She continued to try, step by step until she tired of walking. She decided to follow the stream and turned left, knowing that if she turned right she would come to an outcropping of rocks.

She followed the stream until she came to the corner of the graveyard where the fence met the stream. It was taller than she remembered. She could not reach the top and as soon as she lifted a foot to climb the creature behind her snarled and she heard the shuffling of its feet on the leaf-littered ground.

Hearing it snarl reminded her of her fear and she sat in the corner and leaned back against the fence. She stared out into the darkness and waited. Sleep nor dawn came.

She stood again and instead of trying to climb the fence, followed it to the next corner. She turned and followed the front of the fence, knowing that if she truly was in the graveyard, she would approach the gate soon and would be free to leave that way.

Slow steps took her all the way across the front of the graveyard to the next corner. How could that be? Where was the gate? She retraced her steps, following the metal fence with her hand as she made each step. The gate was gone.

She made one last attempt to feel for the gate in the pitch blackness surrounding her and did not find it. She knew the last corner of the graveyard where the stream and fence met was inclined sharply and she wondered if she would be able to climb over the fence there.

It took her an immeasurable amount of time to move from the corner to the ledge over the stream. The fence never dipped or changed in any way and when she had climbed onto the outcropping of rocks and stood in the tallest part of the graveyard behind her family's house she waited.

She finally sat down and pondered her situation. She had lost her sight. The others were gone. She neither hungered or tired. She was trapped in the Rowle graveyard with a creature that terrified her in the middle.

Was she dead?

How had she died? She had no recollection of death.

She stood up again to listen. This unending silence would drive her mad, it would be much more tolerable if she had no awareness at all and the creature in the middle, the thing she feared so entirely, might be her solace. She was not a Gryffindor, she was not brave.

She was a Hufflepuff, steadfast in her aims. She would face the creature and let it do to her what it wanted; she could not imagine this continued existence for eternity. She could see the layout of the graveyard in her mind's eye even as it was still completely dark to her eyes. She hopped down from the ledge, felt calmed and reassured by the babbling of the stream and strode towards the centre. She knew the most recent graves would be near the centre... if only she could make it to her own grave, if she were dead, then she would know.

She reached out and her hand brushed the cold stone. She let her fingers slide over the front, feeling each dip and curve as she read the letters with by touch. This was Borghildr, shield-maiden, ultimate grandmother. Hella was bolstered by her plan, Borghildr would help her battle the creature if she needed to.

She moved from stone to stone, moving forward in time with each one. The creature snarled the closer she came to where her name, her grave, would be. At last, she reached a stone that did not feel as pitted by the weather. Her fingers traced the flowers craved along the top and she knew this stone. There was no need to feel for a name. This was Ellisif, her mother.

She took a step, reverent in stepping over her mother's grave and there was a wash of heat over her face and the loudest, deepest growl a creature could give.

Chills raced up Hella's spine and fear dug its claws deep in her gut. She could smell the rancid breath of the creature as it stared her in the face. She knew it did, even if she could not see. Just as she knew it was standing on her bed in death.

"I have to know," she said allowed, both to herself and the creature. Her ragged breath mixed with that of the creature in front of her. Her hands shook as she reached out.

The first brush of something under her fingers was mirrored onto her. She felt human hair, stringy like her own, under her fingers just as something touched her own hair near her ear. She let her fingers move down slightly, touching skin, jaw, neck and felt the same touch on her own skin. With a jerk, she pulled her hand back and the touch on her neck left as well.

There was an inhuman snarl that heightened Hella's fear to the point that her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest and she reached out, but down, for a headstone. Stone brushed her fingertips but then she lost her balance and fell forward toward the creature with human hair, toward the grave where she thought she might belong. She fell.

She did not stop falling.


	5. Chapter 5

**Ordinary Writing Levels** , Day 30, Prompt: blood

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When Hermione found Thorfinn Rowle he was wandering in the shallows of the Black Lake after the battle at Hogwarts. He wasn't hostile to her, in fact, he seemed to be muttering jibberish. She cast an Incarcerous Spell at him and bound his arms which made him more agitated. There was blood from a broken nose dripping down his face and onto his chest, staining his shirt.

She sent green sparks into the air to alert the Aurors that she'd found someone alive and moved on to canvassing the grounds for more people.

Later, while she was debating what direction her life should take now that that the threat of imminent death was past and her last year of education loomed ahead of her, Hermione had trouble getting Thorfinn Rowle out of her mind. She had followed the trials of all of the Death Eaters and learned that he'd been remanded to the Janus Thickery Ward in St Mungo's until he seemed competent enough to understand his sentencing. Before school started back in September, she decided she would go visit him and see what the healers had to say.

When she escorted into the ward, she found the large, muscled man strapped to a bed near the healers' station. His thick blond hair had been shorn short and though his eyes were clear it was abundantly obvious that he wasn't mentally aware of her presence.

The healer came up next to Hermione, shaking her head as they both looked at him. "What's wrong with him?" Hermione heard herself ask.

"We don't know. Every so often we can coax him into talking with one of us but most of the time what conversations he has are clearly one-sided. He's conversing with the voices in his head."

"He was yelling a name, I thought, like he was searching for someone when I found him at Hogwarts. Hella. Do you know who that is?"

At the mention of the girl's name, Thorfinn jerked in his straps and looked at them, knocking his blanket a little and freeing his socked foot. Seemingly of sound mind for a moment. The bed shimmied and rattled under him and then he was lost again, staring off into the middle distance and nodding like he was listening to someone.

The healer's eyebrows raised at Hermione and she nodded, ignoring Thorfinn's moment of clarity. "He had a younger sister named Hella, I think, but she's been dead a while. Died the same year he killed their father."

"Is there nothing that can be done? No potions to help him cope with his mental illness?"

"Mental what?" the healer asked, looking at her like she was speaking jibberish. "No," she shook her head, "There aren't potions to fix things like this. Some things magic can't fix." She tutted at Thorfinn and pulled the corner of his blanket back over his foot. She walked off, leaving Hermione to stare at the man.

"I bet Muggle science and medicine would help," she muttered to herself as she watched him a few moments longer. Was there something she could do to help him? In the three months since the end of the war, she'd wondered if there were help for any of them. She knew she, Harry, and Ron all had nightmares from the war. She didn't doubt others did as well. There were no healers for mental health in the Wizarding World it seemed. And here was another example.

"You're name's Hermione Granger, isn't it?" Thorfinn's voice, quiet and scratchy said from the bed. He was looking directly at her, clear, alert eyes. She nodded. He nodded back and his lips twitched into a sad smile. His eyes closed after a moment and he was lost again to his illness.

She knew what she wanted to do with her life now. It wasn't just equal rights across the board in Wizarding society. She needed to introduce Muggle medicine and mental health services into this world. She needed a plan.


End file.
